


Won't You Come Home, George Bailey

by micehell



Category: Highlander: The Series
Genre: Drama, Friendship, Gen, post-Indiscretion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-09
Updated: 2006-12-09
Packaged: 2017-11-12 03:21:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,498
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/486100
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/micehell/pseuds/micehell
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He grinned at his own joke, and Joe couldn't help but grin back, letting the other man's humor and presence push back a little at his lingering sadness.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Won't You Come Home, George Bailey

**Author's Note:**

> Based on events from 6x11 Indiscretion, and, very mildly, on 6x13 Not to Be.
> 
> You can either go with the idea that the end of _Not To Be_ took place right before Christmas, or you can think it's the next Christmas. I -- hopefully -- left it vague enough for that, 'cause I couldn't remember what time frame the canon took place in. ;)

Joe wiped down the bar top, taking infinite care in corralling the three loose peanut skins, in scrubbing out the tell-tale ring of condensation the lone beer bottle had left behind in the heated air of the bar. He wiped the bar top with every ounce of his attention focused on the movement of the rag, on the reflected light in the gloss on the dark wood, on anything but the still-closed door of the bar or the sympathetic eyes of the man drinking the beer. He moved without thought to anything but the task, the hypnotic slide of the rag -- back and forth, back and forth, back and forth -- almost satori. But while Joe appreciated the Zen-like peace, the enlightenment that came from it cut deep.

"She's not coming." His voice rang loud in the otherwise empty bar, and even in the midst of the pain he felt over Amy's non-appearance, Joe was amused at the way it made Methos jump. Joe hadn't been the only one caught up in the silence.

Methos delayed answering by taking another sip of his beer, his eyes slanted to watch Joe even as he drank. He was smiling when he put the bottle down, one of his harmless Adam smiles, but he surprised Joe by not disagreeing. "No, she's not. At least not this year. She just needs more time, Joe. It's a lot to take in."

And it wasn't like Joe hadn't told himself exactly that, but it was still hard to finally be near his daughter after all these years, to finally have her know who he was, and for her not to _care_. "Yeah. More time."

Methos was still smiling, but it was the 'oldest immortal' one this time, layered with hidden meanings, and Joe didn't have a hope in hell of figuring all of them out. "Come on now, buddy, buck up."

"God, please, no more with the buddy, Methos." He'd been driving Joe crazy with that ever since Walker.

"Joe, you wound me. Don't you want to be my buddy?"

He knew better than to take that plaintive tone as real, but Joe also knew better than to assume it wasn't either. And, hell, as irritating as he could be, Joe did want to be Methos' buddy, heaven help him. Still, he waited until Methos was taking a drink before he said, "Sure thing, buddy."

But he wasn't going to get something over on the old man twice in one evening, and Methos just calmly swallowed his beer, nodding his head when he was done. "Amy will come around in the end, and there's plenty to be happy about in the meantime. It's Christmas, Joe."

"You're not a Christian."

"Not this century, certainly, but I have been. Well, I've been a priest at any rate. But even without that, there's something magical about this time of year. There are far too many religious celebrations that coincide with this season not to assume that it means _something_ , perhaps on some atavistic level that even I'm too young to remember. Though I do remember-"

But Joe cut him off. "Methos, I'm really not in the mood for one of your bullshit stories right now."

His eyes were dark in the dim light of the bar, but Joe could still see the considering look that Methos was giving him. "Okay. Buddy." He grinned at his own joke, and Joe couldn't help but grin back, letting the other man's humor and presence push back a little at his lingering sadness.

"Don't you have anything better to do than sit here with me on Christmas?"

Methos pursed his lips, his head tilted in exaggerated thought. "What could be better than being here? Come on, Joe, it's not so bad here, is it? It's snowing outside, light and soft, repainting Paris into a wonderland in white."

"You're a poet, man."

But Methos ignored his sarcasm. "We're warm and cozy in here, with beer and good company, all that we could want in the world."

"I take it back; you're a greeting card writer. Or an ad exec on a beer campaign, one of those two things."

He stuck his tongue out at that, but it didn't stop Methos from continuing. "You should feel good, Joe. Amy's healthy, you're healthy, McLeod still has his head - though that's no thanks to him, really. No one's coming for my head-"

"And that makes me feel better how?"

"Because you love me, buddy, and don't you forget it."

Joe did love him, though he sometimes wondered why. But even though Methos irritated the hell out of him from time to time -- to time -- and just a guy or no, he was one of the best friends that Joe had ever had.

Not that he was going to admit it or anything. "Okay, Methos, I lo- wait, what was I saying? I forget." Not seriously, anyway.

Methos laughed, willing to let the joke be on him for once. "You've got to admit, Joe, it's a wonderful life."

And, yes, Joe knew it was Christmas, but he could not deal with any reference to that movie. One of the joys of being out of the States at this time of year was the way that movie didn't play a thousand times a day over here. "Please, Methos, just shut up."

Methos laughed again, but he did shut up, going back to quietly sipping his beer. Joe wiped up some more, but he couldn't find the null space in his thoughts that it had given him before, so he went around the bar, sitting beside Methos in comfortable silence.

But the silence just made his thoughts seem louder, and even though there was no way he could make the story end any better, he kept going over what happened all those years ago, kept trying to find scenarios that didn't end up with an innocent man hurt, or a marriage between two people who didn't really love each other. That didn't end up with Amy wanting nothing to do with him. With Joe alone.

"Did I ever tell you about the time I spent working in a Roman stable?"

Well, Joe wasn't quite alone. He could tell that Methos was just trying to pull him out of his own spiraling thoughts, but Joe's nerves were already thinned by Amy's absence and his own self-pity, and he couldn't help the snap in his voice when he said, "Have five thousand years not taught you a thing about just enjoying a moment?"

Methos just looked at him, and though it was usually hard to grasp how truly old Methos was, little of his personality and nothing of his appearance giving him away, looking into his eyes in that moment, Joe almost felt like he was drowning in the ocean of all those years, all those moments. It was a relief when Methos smiled, and, God, it was a real smile, no hidden meanings, no masks, just pleasure, and Joe felt slightly ashamed of himself that with everything that had happened in this man's life, Methos could still so obviously enjoy living, while Joe sat there, not even quite fifty, moping around like a teenager that had been stood up for a date.

"Define enjoyment. Buddy." And then Methos was off on another one of his outrageous stories, so false it was probably true, and Joe could feel the tension seep out of him. Maybe he really was in the mood for one of Methos' stories.

He could still feel the ache over Amy in the back of his mind, but he also could also admit to himself that he wasn't sure if it was actually Amy he missed or what she represented, the life he hadn't led. And, man, he hated that movie, so did he really want to be George Bailey, to regret his life so much that he'd wish it away? Would he wish away a friend that would sit here on Christmas, telling him wildly improbable tales so that he wouldn't be sad? Joe shook his head, answering his own question while at the same time letting Methos know that he wasn't buying anything the other man was saying.

He let his thoughts of Amy merge back into the quilt he imagined his mind to be -- parts of it old and threadbare, with pockets of cold regrets, but all of it loved and well-used, the pattern familiar and comforting -- and he stood up and got them both another beer. He might have regrets, but being here in this place, with this man, weren't among them.

He almost snorted his beer out of his nose when Methos' tale got even stranger, and there was no way he believed that Caligula and Incitatus were _that_ close -- except that maybe he did -- but the snow was thick outside the bar, and the bullshit was thick in it, and Joe was enjoying himself immensely. It really was a wonderful life.

/story


End file.
